


Late

by sublightsleeper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Pregnancy Scares, Sibling Incest, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 18:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10393014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sublightsleeper/pseuds/sublightsleeper
Summary: “I'm late.”Dean pulls his eyes away from the bowl of cereal in his lap to glance at the VCR on top of the hotel's ancient TV and the red numbers flash 6:50 at him. School doesn't start until 7:30.(He doesn't have the TV on, hates the sound of people's voices before he's been up for a couple hours. He doesn't know how Sam does it.)“I'm late, Dean.” He hears the warble of fear in her voice this time, head snapping up as the words sink in.





	

“I'm late.”

Dean pulls his eyes away from the bowl of cereal in his lap to glance at the VCR on top of the hotel's ancient TV and the red numbers flash 6:50 at him. School doesn't start until 7:30.

(He doesn't have the TV on, hates the sound of people's voices before he's been up for a couple hours. He doesn't know how Sam does it.) 

“I'm late, Dean.” He hears the warble of fear in her voice this time, head snapping up as the words sink in. 

She's late. 

Fuck. 

The big bowl of Lucky Charms in his lap has lost all its allure, and Dean makes his way into the kitchen to dump it into the sink, Sam following on his heels like a little duckling that doesn't know any better. 

Christ, she might as well be. She's sixteen, and for as much as she knows about things that go bump in the night, she's sheltered. 

It doesn't matter which one of them took the condom and tossed it onto the floorboard of the Impala. Dean is older. He knows better. 

Not that it stopped him from sliding into her, slow and sweet and careful. 

“Okay.” He has to say something, because Sam will tear herself to bits in her own head if he leaves her to her own devices. 

“Go take a shower. I'll go to the store.” There's fear sitting around the whites of her eyes, and all Dean can allow himself to do is reach out and plant a hand on her shoulder. 

“Thirty minutes, tops.”

She nods and walks into the bathroom like a girl headed to the gallows, and Dean doesn't allow himself to let out that shaky breath until the door locks. 

The Impala hiccoughs to life in the cold, pissy because he's left her sitting in the parking lot the last few days. 

This isn't the drive his baby deserves, but ever faithful, she leads him into town, and into the drug store. 

He can the hear the bright overhead lights humming as he shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the words on the signs to find the right aisle. 

There's about twenty different kinds of tests on the shelf, all in different colored boxes. And they aren't cheap. 

Panic claws at the inside of his throat, and Dean grabs the one that boasts ‘EARLIER DETECTION’ on the front cover. 

There's an old guy working the register, tufts of white hair still clinging at his temple, though the rest of his head is shiny bald. He takes one look at the box, and then at Dean's pale, panicked face and chuckles under his breath. 

He says ‘good luck’ when he hands Dean the bag and his crumpled change. 

The drive back to the hotel seems like a split second, compared to how long it took to get there. 

Sam's sitting on the bed in a towel waiting for him, and even as awful as everything is, Dean's body still lurches in white knuckled want at the sight of shoulders and thighs. 

He hands over the bag and Sam pulls the box out like it's going to bite her. She stares at the instructions on the back, but everything looks blurry. 

“You gotta pee on it. Then we wait three minutes.” Sam doesn't ask why Dean knows this. She's pretty sure she doesn't want to know the answer. 

But she goes into the bathroom, door partly ajar as she does what she has to do and then puts the cap on, leaving it to sit on the counter before she all but runs into her brother's open arms, towel falling at their feet. 

Dean presses his lips to the top of her head, pulling in a shaky breath. “No matter what, I'll take care of it.”

He doesn't want to think about abortion clinics, or what being this close in the gene pool would do to a kid. Not to mention the fact that Sammy is still a kid herself. 

They couldn't bring a kid into this. It's too fucked up. 

But she needs to hear that he'll protect her, that no matter what happens, he'll always be there. 

They stand there, Sam's damp skin against his clothes, until she whispers under her breath that it's been three minutes. 

Dean is the one who pulls away. The one who crosses to the bathroom and prays to a God he isn't sure he believes in. 

The plastic trembles in his hand. 

One line. 

“Oh thank fuck.” Relief hits him like a ton of bricks and Dean sags, barely enough weight left to keep him upright when Sam barrels into him and hugs him like he's fixed this, and not that they just got extremely lucky. 

“No more sex.” Sam nods emphatically against his chest, but she's naked and pushing fingers beneath his shirt to get to his skin. 

This is his doing, that connection between adrenaline and desire. Too many post hunt hook ups, both of them too accustomed to riding out close calls in each other's arms. 

Dean lifts her with hands beneath her knees. Sam is tall and lean, but still light enough that he can hold her against him without strain. 

She's still his, for a little while longer. 

He drops her on the bed with a breathless sound, mouth working over neck and throat and the swell of breasts.

This is stupid. This is reckless. Dad isn't even out of town, he's on a research run and Dean is kissing his way down Sam's belly, diverting to hip and knee and thigh while she pants and mewls. 

“Dean.” Her hair is spread around her like a cotton soft halo, a few strands sticking to her neck. 

When clothes come off, Sam runs the show. She's the one who will climb in his lap, who will push him down on the bed and hold him in place with nothing more than a look. 

She owns his ass, and she knows it. 

But Dean is the one above her now, the one who peels off his shirt so that he can feel her heartbeat against his skin. 

“We cut it too close.” Dean's words are a plea. Stop me. Sam just whispers ‘I know’ against his jaw and works the button fly of his jeans open, her touch sure and confident against him. 

Dean has never stood a chance. 

He slides a hand along the outside of her knee as she guides him inside of her, a shared sigh of breath between them when he bottoms out. 

Sam knows that Dean loves her. And sex has never been about that. Sex has always been release and relief, hard and fast with marks left behind to remind them that they're alive. 

Not tonight. 

Tonight, Dean is the one driving, and he takes it slow. He rocks into her, slow and deep and sweet, and he whispers all his truths against her skin. 

He teases her right up to the edge, skin on skin, heart against heart, and every time she comes close, he backs down. 

Over and over, even as the bus honks outside and rumbles on. Sam hooks her ankles behind his back and tries to take control, shaking and needy, but Dean slows her down with feather light kisses, with knuckles skating down her ribs. 

When release comes, it comes as a surprise. Sam keens a quiet sound, nails digging into his back. Dean isn't far behind, and a promise made an hour ago is already gone. 

She is pliant in a way he rarely sees, lazy fingers working through his hair and a smile on her lips. Dean wants to freeze this moment forever, to put it in amber and never have to come out. 

But the sun is up, and Dad will be back sooner rather than later. 

Dean groans as he pulls out, offering Sam a hand up onto her feet. 

“Go get dressed, I'll drive you to school.”

Then he'll throw the pregnancy test in the high school dumpster and they'll pretend like it never happened.


End file.
